


Cas Works In Mysterious Ways

by half_past_am



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: spnkink_meme, Human Castiel, M/M, Masturbation, Slight Crossdressing, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 01:50:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1327360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/half_past_am/pseuds/half_past_am
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean pranks Cas, and gets more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cas Works In Mysterious Ways

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a spnkink_meme request here http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/83218.html?thread=30963218#t30963218
> 
> _Cas has been human for a good while and Dean thinks it's high time to include him in a good old fashioned prank war. He starts out with the old hand in warm water trick._
> 
> _Cas makes his way into the kitchen the next morning, cheeks burning such a pretty fucking pink and looking adorably confused and unsure. There is such an obvious wet patch on his pajama pants... and Dean is incredibly turned on by it all._
> 
> _Dean doesn't feel as bad as he knows he should, but he tries to make up for it by helping Cas out. He has Cas go take a shower and gets him fresh clothes to wear, and offers to do the soiled laundry..._
> 
> _While Cas is in the shower, Dean has a quick jerk-off session, pressing the wet pair of underwear to his nose and inhaling the scent._
> 
> _*BONUS IF THE UNDERWEAR = PANTIES*_

Cas appeared in the kitchen doorway, shuffling his feet drowsily, his hair sleep-tousled, and a bright pink blush high across his cheekbones, the flush only a few shades lighter as it trailed down his bare chest. His eyes were cast down, hands in loose fists, and a downright lickable crease on his brow speaking volumes of his confusion. Dean, smirking over the lip of his mug, imagined he could hear the cogs turning in Cas’s early-morning brain if he listened hard enough.

“Welcome to humanity, Cas,” Dean offered by way of greeting, lifting his coffee to mark the occasion, his smirk growing wider once Castiel shot his eyes up from where he had been staring.

“I don’t understand,” Cas’s frown deepened. “I’m hardly a stranger to the human necessity of urinating, but I always wake up for it. Dean, is there something wrong with me?”

Dean’s glee dampened down a notch at the alarm he saw widening Cas’s eyes, and tried to school his grin down to something more reassuring. “No, Cas, God no,” he put down the mug and stood up, waving a hand in the air in search of the words that would make to the ex-angel. “It’s just…” Dean paused, his eyes flicking involuntarily down to the telltale damp front of Cas’s pajama bottoms, and swallowed thickly. He took a step forth in hopes to avoid actually having to adjust himself, as the sight of Cas in piss-soaked pants made his cock twitch with nothing less than anticipation.

Clearing his throat, Dean collected Cas from the doorway and led him towards the bathroom. “Consider this as you initiation into the ranks of humans.” Dean, as soon as Cas halted and whipped his head to stare at Dean in confusion, realized his explanation didn’t exactly  _explain_  anything. “I mean—”

“I wasn’t aware of any rites of…” Cas’s mouth twitched, infuriatingly ambiguous, and squinted at Dean for a moment. “ _You_  did this.” Cas seemed dumfounded, but not angry in the least while realization dawned, only to be replaced with a quirked eyebrow to effectively express the endless enigmatic amusement humanity, and Dean especially, offered. “Why? And  _how?_ ”

“It’s a prank, okay? It’s a stupid prank where you dip a sleeping dude’s hand into warm water and it makes them piss their pants. It’s supposed to be hilarious.” And it was, in the corner of Dean’s brain where the perpetually-fifteen-year-old Dean Winchester resided, but it was being overrun by the 34-year-old Dean who was suddenly in a rush to get Cas into the shower, before the bulge in his own pajamas became too obvious. “Come on,” he smiled at Cas, who returned the smile a bit hesitantly while Dean tugged him along. “Let’s get you cleaned up, and later I’ll let you in on the many uses of cling film.”

Cas let himself be walked the rest of the way to the bathroom, grimacing as the now cold piss made the fabric of his pants stick to his thighs and shuddered.

The quiet “it was much more pleasant when it was warm” that Cas parted with before closing the door in Dean’s face made Dean’s stomach do a curious little flip.

He stared at the door, blinking for a second before knocking and hollering; “Hey, hand me the clothes. And take your time, I’ll get the laundry going—” The door opened and Dean found himself with an armful of damp cloth and an eyeful of naked Cas, and before Dean could quite determine if the smile on Cas’s face was mischievous rather than vengeful, the door drew shut again.

Right. Laundry.

The sharp scent of piss mixed with the more familiar scent of Cas wafting off the clothes with each step towards the washing machine seemed to make the decision for Dean before he could think about it further. He took a sharp turn to the left and rushed into his own room, slamming the door and sitting heavily on his bed.

His breath had become shorter, the tenting of his pants almost comical, if not for the blood boiling in Dean’s veins when he brought the bundle of cloth closer to his face and inhaled deeply. It was dizzying. It was heady, the myriad of smells that all but screamed  _Castiel_ in all its earthiness, the sweat salty sweet in the back of Dean’s throat when his senses mingled, and flopping down on the bed, feet planted on the floor, he couldn’t shove his hand down his pants fast enough.

The last time he’d been this achingly hard had been when he’d found the aftermath of Cas’s wet dream in the laundry basket.

Dean gripped his cock tight, just holding on for a moment, head thrown back to ride the spasm of his back arching with a jolt, Cas’s damp pajamas clutched to his chest. Hastily, he pushed his pants down over his knees one handed, wiggling, eager. Breathing deep, Dean closed his hand around his engorged cock and started to lift his hips, fucking into his fist slowly, while smoothing his hand over the clothes, digging his fingers in the folds, finding the cool blotch of piss, when his fingers touched something smoother than flannel.

Dean drew his head up and paused to focus on what he was holding, and squeezed his cock as it pulsed at the sight of the green, seamless hipster panties. Tentatively, Dean lifted the undergarment closer to his face, and let his head thud back on the bed.

The microfiber felt almost dry against his cheek, but the scent he craved with all his lust was all there, making his balls draw up in anticipation, his hips jerking on their own volition, and a helpless whimper escaped his lips as he dropped the panties over his face.

Deliberately alternating his breathing through his mouth and nose to get as thorough sensations as possible, Dean let his mind and body be overcome with  _Cas, Cas, Cas_ , as his spine curved as if to escape the crest the burn of the insatiable flames were pushing him forth.

This was Cas condensed, in Dean’s every inhale. This was Dean’s desire for him in every gasp and groan, and propelled by the sheer  _need_ , Dean pressed the panties firmly against his face, his mouth, and added taste into the onslaught on his senses.

Whimpering, trembling, Dean sped his hand on his cock, tightening, loosening, lost to the world, until it all came alight with the blinding crash of white-hot pleasure, curling his toes, his left hand shooting out to grasp at anything to keep himself from keening too loud as his come painted his abdomen with abstract expressionism.

Relaxing in increments, Dean huffed out a laugh, moving to remove the panties off his face, but instead pressed them down for one more, deep inhale. With a pleased hum, he shook his head to clear the remnants of his bliss, and made less than convincing attempt to move. So he sighed, and remembered, grinning fondly with his face swathed with silken fabric soaked with exciting bodily fluids, the reason  _for_  the women’s underwear - the matter-of-fact expression on Cas as he explained how he wasn’t used to human sensations, and how the seams of his regular underwear chafed unpleasantly, while loading decidedly seamless panties in the shopping cart.

Chuckling, drying his come with the fine fabric, Dean folded himself upright, all set to haul ass to laundry duty, when he registered what he was seeing from the corner of his eyes.

In one fell swoop, Dean filed through any and all possible explanations for his less than savory frolicking around with Cas’s soiled clothing, while the man of the hour himself stood leaning on the doorframe, barefoot, in purple hipster panties, and his hands stuffed in the pockets of Dean’s bathrobe.

Dean’s masterful impression of a goldfish did nothing to fill the silence in the room, but  _right_  before it became oppressive, Cas pushed himself from the door, a gleam in his eyes, and once Dean’s brain kicked into gear again, the soft smile on Cas’s lips belayed the instinctive flight reaction just waiting under Dean’s skin.

“This,” Cas lifted his chin towards the general direction of the bed, “I assume, is not part of a prank?”

“No,” Dean managed to gasp past desert dry lips, unable to break the intense stare Cas was bestowing him. “It’s, uh.” So there was no explanation. So Dean would just have to roll with the punches and maybe have Charlie book him a ticked to Timbuktu. One way.

“Good. I’m…  _relieved_.” Cas’s eyes flicked to the panties, and back to Dean.

Dean stared in disbelief. This son of a bitch was mocking him, twisting the knife, quite literally caught him with his pants down, and so much more Dean wasn’t going to think about right now, and now he was making fun of Dean? As if the sheer mortification wasn’t enough.

Dean wanted to take a swing, lash out, anything, but froze in his place once Cas sat down beside Dean, that oddly soft smile still carving a beautiful curve on his face.

“I apologize,” Cas said, almost bashful, of all things. “I couldn’t resist.” Cas looked up again, tentatively placing his hand on Dean’s arm, and tilted his head with a one-shoulder shrug. “I just wanted to get even.” The smile was back. “I like us being on equal footing.”

Dean gaped, gathered himself, and then gaped some more, until Cas scooted closer, his hand leaving Dean’s cooling skin cold when he leaned forward, his lips nearly brushing Dean’s ear. “Your pleasure is my pleasure,” Cas murmured low, causing Dean to shiver.

When Cas pulled back, the panic welling around Dean’s heart had subsided as if touched by an angel that weren’t a dick, but words still struggled to get out of his mouth. “You mean, I mean… You can’t possibly mean…” Maybe it wasn’t the words. Maybe he just hadn’t dared hope. “You mean all this,” Dean made an all-encompassing wave of his arm, “between me and you? Us?”

No, it wasn’t the most coherent conversation they’d ever had, but it seemed to make sense nonetheless, since Cas leaned close, and spoke against Dean’s lips; “Yes. We’ll make it up as we go.”

Dean saw the gleam in Cas’s eyes and knew his own matched, especially, when Cas slid a hand around Dean’s wrist and kissed him lightly, while guiding Dean’s hand to cup the prominent bulge in Cas’s microfiber panties.

Castiel drew back a fraction, his face serious but gentle when he spoke again, “ _All_ your pleasure, Dean.” At Cas’s salacious wink, Dean swallowed hard, and nodded almost solemnly. Then Cas pushed Dean down towards the bed, and straddled his lap, adjusting his ass  _just so_  over Dean’s cock, and bent down to share one more thing; “I want you to understand, Dean, I wasn’t born human.  _I have no shame._ ”

Mischievous. The glint in Cas’s eye was definitely mischievous.

Awesome.

 

 


End file.
